


no one's son

by jewishjaybird



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe, DCU (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Bruce is a good dad, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, actual comic timelines dont interact, dont touch if you ship them, jayroy is mentioned, snippets of jason and bruce's relationship throughout the years, takes place in the dceu i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 19:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15468498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jewishjaybird/pseuds/jewishjaybird
Summary: Jason is no one's son.Or at least, that's what he'd say if you asked.





	no one's son

**Author's Note:**

> seriously, do not touch this if you ship them
> 
> this is a collection of scenes between jason and bruce that shape their relationship. is it cohesive? not really! some angst, some fluff, some sad stuff. 
> 
> hope you guys like it!

Jason Todd was in luck.

It had been a particularly good night for him. He'd nicked a wallet at the market and snatched a watch straight off someone's wrist. That's what those rich bozos got, he thought to himself, when they came downtown to stare. 

And now, parked in the alleyway between two dumpy apartments, was the nicest car he'd ever seen. 

He'd learned to lift tires when he was ten. One of the older kids in the neighborhood showed him once when he was still running with them. 

He'd nearly gotten the third tire off when he heard footsteps behind him. 

"Hey!" The voice was gruff.

He turned around quickly, nearly dropping the tire iron. His eyes were wide and his jaw slack.

"How about you give that to me, son,"

Jason was frozen. He'd heard stories about the Batman before, but he'd always written it off as a scary bedtime story for the bad kids in the Narrows. He remembered once, not too long ago saying to a friend:  _Batman's like Santa Claus. They just tell little kids about him so they'll be good._

Jason hesitated a second, fingers tightening over the tire iron, then swung it out and hit the Batman in the gut.

He ran. The Batman followed. 

Jason yelled curse words when he felt an arm wrap around him from behind, lifting him off the ground and carrying him back to the nice car. 

"Let go'a me, asshole! I swear to God, I'll-"

Batman dropped him onto the hood of the car and stood in front of him with his arms crossed, blocking the escape, "Do you have somewhere to be?"

Jason kicked out his leg, perfectly level with the Batman's crotch, but Batman caught him by the ankle before he could make contact. 

"Where are your parents?"

Jason tugged his leg from Batman's grasp, "Ain't got none."

Batman nodded slowly, then said, "Pretty dangerous to be out here all alone."

"Maybe for you. Have fun driving back with only two tires."

Batman cracked a smile. Jason didn't know what to think about that. 

"Little thief, huh?" 

"It's yer own fault,"Jason argued, "What kind of an idiot parks their nice ass car in Crime Alley?"

Batman couldn't stop himself from laughing out loud at that.

Jason recoiled at the sound and snapped, "Don't know what you laughin' at, mister. I was serious."

"I know you were," Batman nodded to the tire iron, which was still held tightly in Jason's fists, "You're not bad with that, kid."

Jason frowned, "You don't gotta play nice with me, mister. You gonna take me to the cops?"

They would just stick him in a foster home. Jason had heard stories about those- parents who weren't much better off than he was who just wanted a foster kid for the paychecks, or parents who wanted someone to do the work for them. He heard other stories, too, about the cops themselves. Cops who smiled a little too sweetly when they realized you were all alone.

"No," Batman said decisively, "I've just got one more question for you. Answer carefully."

Jason crossed his arms over his chest, "What?"

"Are you hungry?"

Jason wanted to say no, fuck off, but his stomach betrayed him. He crossed his arms over himself, but that didn't make his stomach growl any less quietly. He answeredin a low voice, "Yeah."

Batman nodded, "Okay. Let's get these tires back on, then I'll buy you something to eat. Whatever you want."

"You serious?" Jason asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

"I'm always serious." 

Jason bobbed his head up and down, slid off the hood of the car, and said, "Okay, mister. But no cops."

Batman nodded affirmatively, "No cops."

"Snitches get stitches 'round here, you know."

"I know." 

Batman was smiling. Jason was pretty sure he wasn't supposed to do that. 

 

* * *

 

 

Bruce felt like a ghost sometimes when he wandered the halls. 

The house was always too big for him, but having a child there made him forget about it. There was always laughter bouncing off the high ceilings or music muffled through the doors or shouting or chatter. Sounds that Bruce could sometimes convince himself that he still heard. 

He would wander the hallways until they all started looking the same, and then he'd wander some more. He wasn't sure how, because he never planned his route in advance and he always took a different direction, but he always ended up in the same place. 

In the back of his head, he would hear a voice telling him to stop and to walk away, but he never did. His fingers would wind around the door knob and twist and push, and every time, without fail, the room on the other side would be empty. He wasn't sure why he always expected to see someone in it. 

Jason was dead. His bedroom was empty.

Bruce hadn't moved anything since it happened. All Jason's things were exactly as he'd left them. That made his bedroom feel weird and liminal- trapped in time- as it too waited for him to come home. 

There was a bookmark sticking out of the book on his bedside table. The bed was unmade. There were clothes on the floor. Bruce vaguely remembered telling him to clean it. Then, a week later, telling Alfred not to touch anything, because Jason had gone missing and there might be a clue hidden in the mess.

A few months later, after the funeral, Bruce couldn't bring himself to touch a thing. Moving his son's things would mean moving on, and that felt deeply wrong. 

Bruce just sat on the unmade bed until Alfred called him down for dinner or his cell phone rang or it got dark outside or anything happened to remind him that yes, it was cruel, but time was still moving forward, and he had to get up. It was always something external that got him moving. He wondered how long he would sit there on Jason's bed if nothing made him move. Maybe forever.

That day, it was an impromptu meeting with a few members of the League in Gotham. He hadn't invited them, but they showed up at his house anyway.

They had to walk past the door on the way to Bruce's study.

"Don't," Bruce said a little too loudly when Barry touched the doorknob, "That one's off limits."

Barry drew his hand back and muttered a "Sorry."

Bruce knew the others were exchanging looks behind his back,  but he kept his eyes forward as he led them further down the hall. 

 

He wasn't surprised, a few hours later, when he found the door open and Barry inside.

"Sorry," He said again, "all the hallways look the same and-"

"Barry-"

"-and Victor said you were probably hiding something so I had to-"

"It's okay," Bruce said, and a weight lifted off his chest, "I shouldn't have snapped at you."

He wasn't sure what changed, but the initial anger of seeing someone go near his child's room was gone. Now the door was open and closing it wouldn't make a difference because Barry had already seen it, so there was no point in hiding it anymore. It would help, he thought, if his team knew. They had to know if he wanted them to trust him.

"What is this?" Barry asked, gesturing around himself, "It looks like a kid's room."

"But?" Bruce raised an eyebrow.

"But there's no kids here," Barry said slowly.

Bruce nodded. That was the obvious flaw with the room. Maybe one day, he'd teach Barry to look for the less obvious hints that something was wrong: the dust collecting on every surface, the school papers marked with the wrong date.

"He hasn't been home in a while," Was all Bruce could say.

Barry shifted his weight, "I, uh, I didn't know you had a kid."

"Two," Bruce nodded, "but they're both adopted. One's all grown up now. He lives two hours away. But this room isn't his, it's my youngest's."

"What happened?" 

Bruce hesitated. He hadn't said it out loud in so long, and somehow, saying it made it worse. Saying it made it real. More real than the empty halls, more real than the empty bed. Saying it meant he had to admit it.

"He died. Two years ago."

"Oh," Barry's face changed, "Oh god, I... I'm really sorry."

Bruce shook his head, "I should've told you." 

Barry didn't say anything after that. Bruce forced a smile and gestured to the door with his head. "Come on," he said, "the others will be waiting."

As they walked into the hallway, Bruce felt his muscles relax. He hadn't realized how much Jason still lingered in his mind, in the empty halls, in the empty room. Being alone with the weight of Jason's death was a lot. Sharing the weight wouldn't take the pain away, not even a little bit. It wouldn't keep the nightmares away, it wouldn't make him any less sad, and it wouldn't lessen the feeling of responsibility- the feeling that he should have been there and he wasn't. But , sharing the weight meant that he wasn't alone.

Maybe all he needed was to just not be alone. 

 

* * *

 

And then Jason wasn't dead. 

Bruce had run the test ten times and re-calibrated the entire system five. Each time, the DNA results were the same. 

Jason Todd- his kid, his boy, his child, his baby, his _son_ \- was alive. 

His heart was racing and his hands were shaking. He didn't know if it was from stress or excitement or fear or anger.

His child was a murderer, if all the rumors were true. Why couldn't he figure out if that mattered to him or not?

His child was something entirely different than he was when he died- something Bruce had been afraid Jason would become. The product of misplaced anger and a flawed sense of justice. The product of Gotham City, maybe, a city that steps on you until you gather the nerve to rise above it. 

Jason didn't know yet that Bruce knew it was him. That gave Bruce time enough to track him down.

Tracking him would be easy for someone like Bruce. The difficult part would be finding words to say after that. 

Did he tell Jason how he still wakes up in a cold sweat because he dreamed about Jason's dead body? Did he admit that he used to imagine in explicit detail how he would kill the Joker with his bare hands? Did he talk about how he cried for a week? Should he tell Jason that Dick hadn't said a word to him in years? Or did he just say he was glad Jason was back?

Bruce decided that he would figure that part out later. 

He had sources all around the city, all of which told him one thing: the Red Hood was going to Arkham Asylum. The Red Hood was going to kill the Joker. 

And sure enough, that's where Bruce found him, already in the right wing of the asylum, on his way to the Joker's cell.

"Jason," Bruce called. His voice carried over the bare hallway. The Red Hood took off his helmet. 

"I knew you'd figure it out," He said, and without the vocal scrambler, it was Jason's voice, clear as day. 

It was dark, but Bruce could make out the face. His child's face, his son's face. Jason's face. It was older now. The childlike roundness was nearly gone.

It was still young, of course. Eighteen years old. Barely an adult. It was still a young enough face to look shockingly out of place with the gun strapped to his thigh. 

Jason stopped outside of the Joker's door. Bruce caught up.

"Relax, old man," Jason's fingers were moving smoothly as he loaded the gun and cocked it. Bruce wondered just where he learned how to do that and why the movements looked so natural. No, natural was not the right word. Rehearsed. Jason continued, "this is my last stop."

"What does that mean?" He asked, though he hadn't quite gotten past how his son held a Glock 17 as casually as he used to hold a book. He kept looking at Jason's hands, which no longer looked like the hands of a young child. They were bigger and the fingers were long and slender, but the knuckles, as always, were bruised. They were the hands of someone who wasn't afraid to fight without gloves. 

 "This was the endgame. I came here to get your attention, send a message, and kill the Joker. This is my last stop," Jason looked at Bruce only briefly before turning his attention back to the door, but Bruce reveled in it. It was the same face he'd loved before, though the eyes were an odd green. Bruce was certain that they hadn't been that color before. 

There was a little 'J' shaped scar just below his left eye, the same scar that was still sticky with wet blood when Bruce found Jason. 

"And then what?" Bruce dreaded the answer.

A small, cruel smile quirked at Jason's lips, "You won't have to worry about me getting in your way after tonight. I'm skipping town."

"I can't let you do that." 

The response came too quickly, too firmly. Bruce knew it as soon as he said it. His voice was too authoritative, and he knew how Jason felt about authority. 

"What, you gonna stop me?" Jason's eyebrow arched. It was a cocky look, like he was challenging Bruce to even try, but there was an underlying anger behind his eyes. "You gonna throw me in prison-" he pointed at the door "-with  _him_?" 

"That's not-"

"Just because I'm willing to do something that people have been begging you to do for years?" Jason's voice was rising. Bruce held a hand out to steady him.

"That's not it."

"Then what?"

Bruce's voice dropped almost to a whisper, "Come home with me."

For a second, there was a break in the cool exterior. Jason's eyes darted over his face, scanning for an answer, but he quickly shook his head and looked away, "You're not serious." 

A pause, then, "I'm always serious."

"There's nothing left to talk about, Bruce," Jason said, "I knew you wouldn't approve. I'm not asking for your permission."

"You shouldn't do this."

"Why?" Jason snapped, "Because it's wrong?"

"It _is_ wrong." He knew as he said it that it wasn't the right thing to say, but he could hardly think of anything else.

"Fuck, Bruce," Jason shook his head, "Everything's always black and white for you. Good, bad, right, wrong. That's not real. People aren't like that. Life is more complex than that. So I'm going to kill him because if I don't, he's going to do the same thing he did to me to more people. More kids." Jason was breathing harder by the time he finished. He paused for just a second before huffing a forced laugh and saying, "And here I thought you were gonna understand."

"I understand where you're coming from, of course I do. It's an eye for an eye. You're gonna hurt him because he hurt you."

"He hurt me," Jason repeated, " _me_ , Bruce, your son. I was your son."

"You  _are_  my son,"

"And yet you do nothing to make it right! I was fifteen, Bruce, and I was dead, and you did nothing to make it even a little bit better!"

Bruce could only shake his head, "What you want is revenge."

Jason hesitated a moment, then shrugged, "Call it what you want."

"Killing him won't make you any less scared of him." The words came before Bruce could think better of them.

Jason's hands balled up into fists the same way they would when he was twelve, "I'm not scared." 

"Who would blame you if you were?" Bruce shook his head, "Jason this won't change what happened to you. Nothing can change that. What you need to do now is just find a way to live with it."

"Is that what you did?" Jason asked. The anger was gone, now replaced by a hurt that he was trying poorly to disguise, "You found a way to live with it? You told yourself that oh well, there's nothing you can do, so you moved on and you got yourself a new kid to play Robin?"

"He came to me, Jason, not the other way around."

Jason was quiet. 

"You're still my son, Jaybird," Bruce said. His fingers itched to brush back the stray curl that fell across Jason's face, but he kept his hands at his sides, "I can help you. We can find a way to... to make peace with the past."

Jason shook his head, "I won't be able to make peace with what happened if I don't know for a fact that it'll never happen again." Jason paused then, continued, "You know he deserves it. You know that if I don't kill him now, he's gonna keep killing people until someone stops him."

Bruce took a breath. He looked at the door, then at his son, and then at the door again. 

"Okay."

Jason looked up at him suspiciously, "Huh?"

"I'll go with you."

Jason stared, "You won't stop me?"

"One condition," Bruce replied. It made Jason frown. 

"What?"

"Stay."

His eyebrows arched. He stopped for a moment, thought about it, then nodded. 

"Deal."

Jason's hand was on the door knob. The other was wrapped tightly around the gun. He hesitated a second to gather his wits, then shoved it open. 

The room was empty. 

Bruce was as shocked as he was. 

"Fuck." Jason said softly, then louder, "What the fuck?"

"Someone must have tipped him off," Bruce said, looking about the small cell. The handcuffs were on the middle of the floor, unbroken.

Jason wanted to throw up.

"I've got a rat," He said under his breath. 

Bruce considered putting an arm around Jason's shoulders and steering him out of the room, but thought better of it. 

"It's nearly morning," He said, "Most likely, he won't do anything until tomorrow night. Maybe he'll lay low for a while longer, though, if he knows you're looking for him."

Jason just nodded. 

Bruce tried not to think about how close he had just come to assisting his child with a murder, but he realized that a part of him didn't care. He was always going to prioritize Jason over anyone else. He would do whatever it took to make Jason stay. 

"You should come back to the Manor. Just until tomorrow, if you want."

Jason couldn't say anything. He was feeling too much at once- anger, fear, panic, and distantly, pain. Pain that wasn't really there. Phantom pain, like the burning of smoke in his lungs and the breaking of his fingernails as they dragged across the lid of his coffin and the sting of a knife sliding into his face to carve out that stupid fucking scar. 

Jason just nodded. "Okay."

 

* * *

 

Jason was having a bad day. 

A bad week was more accurate. First it was all small things. His favorite jacket ruined with bloodstains, an unfair parking ticket, getting caught in a rainstorm a mile from his apartment. Then, last night, he fell through a glass skylight and landed on the concrete two floors below and probably got a concussion. 

Jason walked into his apartment. The door shut a little too loudly behind him, but he ignored it and walked straight for the fire escape window. He pushed it open with one hand and stuck a cigarette between his teeth with the other. 

The lighter was lit and held an inch away from the end of the cigarette when he heard it. 

He glanced up, the flame bouncing in the breeze from the open window. Rolling his eyes, Jason took the cigarette from his mouth and said, "It's rude to linger."

Bruce edged around the corner, a little smile on his face. Jason raised his eyebrows and watched quietly as Bruce approached him.

"I didn't think you'd be home so soon." Bruce said.

"Oh," Jason twisted the cigarette in his fingers, "well, that makes it better. What the fuck are you doing nosing around my apartment?"

Bruce sat on the edge of the couch closest to him and replied, "Just checking up on you. You haven't called in a while, I wanted to be sure you were okay."

Jason lit the cigarette. Neither of them spoke for a second while he inhaled and exhaled a puff of smoke. 

"How'd you get in?" 

Bruce frowned, "The lock gets jammed. I just had to jiggle it a little and it-"

"Shit," Jason hissed, "you really are crazy. You can't just text me like a normal goddamn person?"

Bruce didn't say anything to that. Instead, he nodded to the cigarette and said, "I thought you quit."

Jason inhaled again before answering, "Yeah, so did I."

Bruce nodded, and for a second neither of them spoke. Jason wondered if, maybe if today had been a little less frustrating, this would have been a nice encounter. A bonding moment.

"I noticed that the bed is made," Bruce said.

"Great work, Detective."

"I've never seen it made before," Bruce continued, "but there's a rumpled blanket on the couch, and you usually fold it. Has someone slept on the couch recently?"

Jason pinched the bridge of his nose with his cigarette hand. He hated the feeling of being analyzed by anyone, but Bruce was especially painful. He was too quick to make judgments, too keen to notice things that Jason didn't realize mattered until it did.

"Roy. Last night. We watched a movie, and he fell asleep. You happy?" 

"Hrn."

Jason stuck the cigarette between his teeth. He could see, even from a distance, that it was bothering Bruce. A part of him felt satisfied that he was able to put a dent in the blank expression.

"And you, where did you sleep?"

"What the fuck does it matter?"

Bruce arched his brow, and Jason could see the temper beginning to flare. He knew the warning signs like the back of his hand- the way Bruce's face got still, the way his posture tensed. He always tried to calm himself down, but even as a kid, Jason recognized the signs and kept pushing until both of them were yelling.

"I'm just trying to make sense of this."

"Of what?" 

"Your bed looks like it hasn't been slept in, you're smoking again, there's a half empty bottle of tequila on the counter, and you're in a mood."

Jason recoiled as he said, "I'm not in a mood. You showed up here uninvited and started making accusations at me- no, not even. You broke in. You broke into my apartment just to judge me."

"You haven't been sleeping," Bruce's voice was low and firm. It wasn't a question, or even a suggestion. He knew he was right. 

Smoke billowed out of Jason's mouth as he muttered, "No."

"Why?"

Bruce was looking at him too seriously. Direct eye contact, hardly blinking. It was the analyzing again. He was holding Jason under a microscope. 

"Bad dream," Jason dropped his eyes.

"Just one?" 

"The same one. It's reoccurring."

"How bad?" 

"Bad."

Jason took another drag of the cigarette. It was getting short. 

"What's it about?" Bruce's tone had changed. He was treading lightly now, careful not to ruin whatever conversation they had going, however superficial.

"What the fuck do you think it's about?" 

Bruce tilted his head, "Hey."

Jason hated how easily Bruce got to him. Little words, little quirks that made him feel like he was thirteen again. That look Bruce gave him that made him feel like a scolded child, and worse even, made him want to apologize as if he really was a scolded child.

"I don't know," Jason shrugged, "It's a dream, it's... it's nonsensical."

He knew exactly what it was about. He could replay it scene for scene in his head, but he didn't want to talk about it. 

"The Joker is there?" Bruce asked cautiously. Jason just nodded.

Absently, his fingers were traveling to his cheekbone, where the little 'J' shaped scar was still clear as day. He wondered if Bruce noticed, then immediately knew that he did.

"Sometimes it's more fuzzy than others. It always ends the same, though."

"How's that?"

"Same way it did in real life," Jason snubbed the cigarette on the windowsill, "Bomb goes off, and that's it. I wake up after."

"Is this new?" 

"It started a couple months ago," Jason shrugged, "but it's gotten worse. More frequent."

Jason took one look at Bruce's face and chose not to mention the other parts- the phantom pains in his scars, how he could sometimes hear laughter in the back of his head, how he would sometimes jump when he saw men walking in his direction on the sidewalk.

"Have you talked to anyone about it?" 

Jason nodded, "Sure. Roy, and now you."

"That's it?"

"I don't really have a whole lot of friends at the moment," A little smile crept over his face as he said, "I guess I take after you in that respect."

Bruce did not find it funny.

"I didn't mean friends, Jay, I meant a professional."

Jason was quiet for a second, then replied, "I'm not crazy."

"I didn't say-"

"I don't need a shrink," Jason's voice was rising, "I'm not crazy, it's just a stupid dream."

Bruce reached a hand out to touch Jason's shoulder, and Jason flinched back. Bruce drew his hand away like he'd touched a hot stove.

Jason noticed the look of hurt in Bruce's face, but the action spoke for itself. Jason couldn't help it. As a newly adopted street kid, he had been wary of touch. He'd snapped and yelled and hit when Bruce tried to ruffle his hair or straighten his collar. He was never quite sure why, but he did know that it was even worse now. The thought of anyone having their hands on him made him sick to his stomach. 

"You should go." Jason said decisively. Bruce's face was mostly stoic, as always, but Jason could tell he was upset by it.

"Jason, I didn't mean to overstep. You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

Jason nodded, "I want you to go."

Bruce looked at him for one long, dragged out moment, then said, "Okay."

He left.

 

* * *

 

The next time Bruce showed up unannounced, Jason was drunk. He could sense Bruce before he could hear him. He wasn't sure how that was possible. 

He poured himself a glass, drank it, then threw it across the room at the wall Bruce was hidden behind. The glass shattered across the floor. 

"I can hear you," He called.

Bruce came out from behind the corner and heaved a sigh, "Self medicating?" 

Jason's hands were shaking and vision blurry. He picked the bottle up by the neck and took a swing, "Maybe."

"Did something happen?" Bruce asked, moving closer to the couch. Jason drew his legs to his chest.

"No," It was a lie, and it was glaringly obvious.

"What?" Bruce asked. 

Jason scowled, but the alcohol was dulling his senses. He couldn't find it in him to come up with a good enough lie, so he stuck to the truth, "It was stupid. We got in a fight."

"Who?"

"Me n' Roy. He's a real dumbass sometimes," Jason sank further into the cushions, "He left a couple hours ago, and he's probably not gonna come back anytime soon."

Bruce sat on the other end of the couch, cautious to keep a safe distance. He knew how Jason felt about being touched. 

"Sorry to hear that. You two are good friends. You'll work it out."

Jason chuckled, took another swing of liquor, then said, "Yeah. Friends."

He immediately regretted it. Sitting up quickly, he shook his head. The movements made him dizzy, and he braced himself with one hand against the back cushions of the couch.

"Fuck. I didn't mean it like that. Whatever you're thinking, I didn't mean it."

Bruce nodded slowly, and Jason could practically see the information being processed. "Oh." Was all Bruce said for a while. Then: "So you're not... friends. You're more than that."

"No," Jason argued. Then a few seconds later, "Maybe."

"It's okay if you are."

Jason shook his head, "Well I said maybe, so I still might not be. You don't know."

A smile cracked on Bruce's face, "Right."

"But if I was," Jason said slowly, "... if I was, you know, interested in a guy, would that piss you off?"

Bruce was too surprised to say anything coherent to that. "Sorry?"

"Like, would you be pissed? Because you're old, so I'm not really sure where your opinion falls on that sorta thing."

Bruce edged closer, "God, no. Jay I wouldn't be mad at you for anything like that. You never have to worry about that with me, okay? I'm not going to judge you for that."

Jason looked at Bruce for a long time. He took another drink. 

"My biological dad would'a flipped his shit," He said absently, "Funny. I haven't thought 'bout him in a while." His words were starting to slur. His limbs felt heavy. 

"He wasn't a good man. You know that."

Bruce was cautiously inching his hand closer to Jason. This time, Jason didn't move out of the way as Bruce gently pressed a hand to his forehead and brushed his curls out of his face. 

It had taken some time, but Jason was becoming more comfortable with people touching him. Roy had helped quite a bit with that. It started when they were still just friends and were constantly shoving each other and sitting close together. Later, when they teamed up as Red Hood and Arsenal, Jason was forced to become very comfortable with physical contact. Even later, the touching became more than playful and far more than friendly, although that was one of the things Jason would not be telling Bruce, no matter how drunk he got.  

Jason leaned into Bruce's touch. 

"You're a way better dad than he was." Jason said.

Bruce was taken aback for a moment. He couldn't remember the last time Jason had referred to him as his dad. 

Bruce smiled.

Jason's eyelids were drooping, and he found himself leaning against Bruce's shoulder, halfway asleep. Bruce didn't seem to mind, so he didn't move. Bruce's touch was unreasonably gentle. Jason had a hard time, in his drunken state, thinking about how those same hands had snapped bones and fractured skulls. Those same hands that were routinely violent were running through his hair right then, just barely brushing across his scalp.

Jason wasn't sure when he dozed off, but when he woke up, he was in his bed with the covers pulled up to his neck. 

No bad dreams came.

 

* * *

 

Jason wanted to feel angry. Anger was familiar. Anger was a color he wore often. Instead, all he could feel was hurt. 

He marched into the Cave with the intention of getting in Bruce's face and starting a whole thing. Not the best mentality to have before he even walked into the room, but he was upset. He was itching for an answer, and Bruce was too cryptic to be straightforward. 

Bruce was sitting in front of the monitor. He didn't look up when Jason walked in, but Jason knew that he noticed. He noticed just about everything. That only added to Jason's annoyance. 

Jason kept his pace steady, even though his heart was starting to beat faster. Stupid, he though, that he was still getting anxious about confronting Bruce. He confronted Bruce all the time. This would be no different. 

"Why didn't you tell me about Penguin?" Jason asked,  "Do you not trust me to help?"

Bruce looked away from the Batcomputer to study his face, "You know I trust you."

Jason walked closer cautiously. He had his red helmet tucked under his arm, even though he had hardly seen any action that night. As a matter of fact, he had come to the Cave straight from his apartment. 

"Then what?"

Bruce took a long breath, "There was a complication. Conflict of interest, maybe. I wasn't sure how you would handle it, and I didn't want you compromised."

Jason leaned against the table and set the helmet beside him. He crossed his arms over his chest and asked skeptically, "What the fuck does that mean?"

"I just..." Bruce's eyes darted to the monitor, then back to Jason, "I didn't know what you would do. It was already a volatile situation. There were a lot of variables, and I... I don't know. I didn't want any surprises from you."

"So you _didn't_ trust me."

"It's more about the circumstances of the-"

Jason scowled, "You just admitted that you didn't trust me. You said you didn't want me doing any stupid shit."

"I don't recall saying exactly that."

Jason bit back a snarky insult. 

"It's what you meant," Jason argued, "You didn't tell me he was causing trouble because you thought I'd do some stupid shit and ruin everything for you."

"There was a personal issue that I was uncertain about," Bruce was raising his voice to match Jason's volume, "and I couldn't afford to be surprised by you or by anyone. It's not that I didn't trust you, I just... I wanted to be in control of the environment when you found out."

"Found out what?" 

Bruce shook his head, "Jason-"

Jason raised his voice again, "Found out what?" 

"Penguin was responsible for the death your biological father." Bruce spit the words like he couldn't get them out fast enough. He was quiet following that, his eyes studying Jason's face and gauging his reaction. 

It was far from what Jason was expecting. Not even in the same ballpark of what Jason was expecting, actually. He had no idea what to say or what to do, but he was very aware of Bruce watching him, holding him under that stupid analytical stare of his. It made him feel like he needed to do _something_ , but then he was thinking about doing something and not about what Bruce had said, so the whatever he did wouldn't even be in reaction to it. He was overthinking it. He just needed to say something. Anything.

"Oh." Was all he could come up with. Bruce was scarcely blinking.

Jason had always assumed his father's death was a coincidence. People got killed in prison all the time, especially in Blackgate. It was nothing out of the ordinary. He'd never given it much thought. In fact, he didn't give his biological father much thought, period. Willis Todd was a distant figure from his past. He had no reason to be occupying Jason's thoughts. 

"I understand if you're mad." Bruce said slowly, "I should have told you right away, but I wasn't sure how."

There was that again. Bruce was still looking for a reaction. Jason was still floundering, searching for the right reaction and coming up empty. Was he angry? He didn't think so. He didn't think he was upset, either. He felt guilty, though, about not being sadder. Or maybe not. It was a fake guilt. The kind of guilt you get when you know you should be guilty about something and you're not. Jason hadn't been sorry when he found out his dad died. He wasn't sorry now, either. 

"I'm not mad." Jason replied. It was a lame reaction, if it could even be called a reaction at all. 

Bruce knit his brow. Still studying, still analyzing. It was beyond him how Jason- the boy who was always very vocal about what made him angry- could be so calm after finding out the news.

But Jason couldn't find it in him to be mad. Willis Todd had been abusive and manipulative. He hadn't known the words for it when he was little, but he knew them now.

Bruce said, as if he hadn't been clear enough earlier, "He killed your dad... your real dad."

Jason shook his head, "No, he didn't."

"There's proof of it, Jaylad, records and firsthand witnesses. I'm sorry I didn't tell you." Bruce had a sincere look of sympathy on his face, which Jason could only find amusing. 

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head again.

"You're my real dad, Bruce."

**Author's Note:**

> Had to end this by fixing the stupid ass jason killing penguin plot from the new comics! Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
